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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27871165">i’ve been hard and i’ve been artless</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/voltemand/pseuds/voltemand'>voltemand</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Fair Lady (1964), Pygmalion - Shaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:49:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,941</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27871165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/voltemand/pseuds/voltemand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Her fingers are cold, which is weird because the rest of her body is vibrating like it wants to be somewhere else, her stupid human heart Doppler-shifting all over the place. She feels blurry, she feels reckless. And Liza’s still looking at her, and her eyes are dark, and her hair’s swept over her shoulder, and it’s fucking <i>shimmering</i>, and oh. Oh. This can’t be what she thinks it is, but she’ll know if she just fulfills the fucking prophecy, open the box, you weak-ass Schrödinger bitch.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eliza Doolittle/Henry Higgins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i’ve been hard and i’ve been artless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from “Bowerbird” by molly ofgeography.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Etta’s not sure when she realized that Liza is probably the love of her life. Emphasis on probably. 80-90%. Okay, yes, she does know, but it’s embarrassing, ew. Jesus Christ. She’s smart. She should have known she would fall head-over-heels for the first foul-mouthed hacker on a scholarship she met freshman year. Actually, she would be fine with being oblivious, if the aforesaid hacker had been anyone else. Liza’s different. Liza is leaving because she’s stupid and wants to follow a fucking old money business school idiot to a crappy apartment and sell out forever and maybe get straight-married. Come the fuck on.</p><p>It’s like this. Etta is a piece of shit, except she’s got--okay, bear with her, this metaphor’s a little convoluted--she’s got, like, flecks of gold inside her. She’s a diamond in the rough. Rough meaning fecal matter and diamond meaning gold, which. Not her best work, clearly. But Freddy Fucking Eynsford-Hill is just a piece of shit through and through, like, the most premium-alpha-verified-bluecheck-pornstar crap. Fertilizer-grade crap. Matt-Damon-in-the-Martian-spread-on-crops crap.</p><p>And Liza is. Liza is warm, mostly, but her hands are always cold, and she brought Etta chicken soup when they were sophomores and the flu had infected half of their hall. She brought Etta a lot of food, actually, and she memorized every order. Her handwriting is godawful, and so is her laugh, braying and too loud, and Etta secretly--yes, this is creepy, <i>shut up</i>--recorded it. Once. Liza has eyes that are really, ridiculously dark and boney wrists, and she wears friendship bracelets like a little kid. She codes like breathing and she slurps Dr. Pepper like it’s fucking nectar, and Etta hates how much she unwittingly was into it, how she stared at Liza’s fingernails, serrated and flecked with chipped paint, as they punched at her keyboard. Her lips, pursed and dry and too pink. She’s still Etta’s emergency contact.</p><p>But. The moment Etta knew, or whatever. Make yourself comfortable.</p><p>Picture this. It’s Christmas Eve. Of course it’s Christmas Eve. They’re wandering around campus, and Liza blows on her hot chocolate, and it’s fucking disgusting corporate Starbucks shit that Etta’s supposed to be against, ideologically or something, but she can’t quite bring herself to condemn Liza’s smile, the steam fogging up her glasses. “Merry Christmas,” Liza says, and she pulls something out of her pocket.</p><p>“Not until tomorrow, dumbass.”</p><p>“Humor me, shithead.”</p><p>“Only because you <i>insist</i>, and I’m so generous, so <i>magnamious</i>, actually, to accept your lowly gift--Jesus, Liza, I’m kidding, don’t push me, I’m sure it’s wonderful.” Etta gingerly takes the box. “This is <i>heavy</i>.”</p><p>“It’s metal.” Liza’s looking right at her.</p><p>Etta’s throat is suddenly dry. “You sure about this?”</p><p>Liza shrugs. “Sure.”</p><p>Her fingers are cold, which is weird because the rest of her body is vibrating like it wants to be somewhere else, her stupid human heart Doppler-shifting all over the place. She feels blurry, she feels reckless. And Liza’s still looking at her, and her eyes are dark, and her hair’s swept over her shoulder, and it’s fucking <i>shimmering</i>, and oh. Oh. This can’t be what she thinks it is, but she’ll know if she just fulfills the fucking prophecy, open the box, you weak-ass Schrödinger bitch.</p><p>It’s a necklace, one of those customized ones, and instead of a name, it says “elif,” and this feels like the set-up to the sort of dumb corny joke you make at a Girls in STEM conference. <i>Knock knock. Who’s there? Values(). I don’t have any keys!</i> Etta is wondering wildly what the hell she was waiting for, why she thought Liza was going to--she can’t even say it, what the fuck is wrong with her--and then she watches Liza’s mouth open, waits with bated breath for her to speak, and she knows. “Thanks,” she blurts out before Liza can speak. “For the necklace. Thanks, I really like it, it’s pretty, I like it.”</p><p>Liza frowns. “I wanted you,” she says, licks her lips, takes a breath. “I wanted you to know that I’ve got a job offer.”</p><p>“Okay,” Etta babbles, “um, that’s fine, right, just work remotely, whatever, everyone loves you here, just tell Shaw and he’ll figure out everything.”</p><p>“It’s with a startup,” Liza says. “It’s a really good idea, I think.”</p><p>Etta snorts. “With who? Hugh?”</p><p>“No, not fucking Hugh. Someone at the business school, actually.” She takes a sip of the hot chocolate. “I think you know his sister. Freddy Eynsford-Hill.”</p><p>“I <i>fucked</i> his sister, you know that. And Freddy? He’s a mark. I convinced him to--okay, don’t tell him, but I convinced him to join an MLM, basically.”</p><p>“I like him,” Liza says, and she’s got that familiar stubborn set to her face. “I’m going to work with him.”</p><p>“You <i>like</i> him? You can like the Easter Bunny. You can like Elizabeth Warren. You can’t like Freddy Eynsford-Hill. Shit, Liza, you barely like me.”</p><p>“I like you,” and Etta feels her heart go back into that Doppler-hum, irregular, a golden beery buzz, “but I like him too. And I’m dropping out.”</p><p>“Well,” Etta says.</p><p>--</p><p>“<i>What</i> did you say?”</p><p>“I told her, um, I told her that unless she’s the next Mark Zuckerberg, seven-eighths of a CS degree and a brief stint as Freddy Eynsford-Hill’s Woke Hacker Girlfriend Slash CTO… Do I have to say it?”</p><p>“Do you want my help or not?”</p><p>“I told her that, well, those credentials would help if she was applying to be the Queen of Broke Dropout Stoner Land, but if she wanted an actual career, she should get her head out of her ass and into her books. And then I said she was stupid, and that I taught her everything she knows--which isn’t exactly true--and that when she inevitably came crawling back, I would pretend I didn’t know her--I think the exact words I used were ‘It’s like Survivor, and you’re thrown off the motherfucking island.’ I don’t even watch that show. And then I threw the necklace at her. I think.”</p><p>Pickering groans. “Did you ever tell her how you feel about her?”</p><p>“<i>How I feel about her?</i> I didn’t even know I felt anything until she said she was leaving!”</p><p>“Etta,” he says, patient, and she remembers why they’re friends. “You’ve been in love with Liza since freshman spring, at least.”</p><p>“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”</p><p>Pickering looks at her. “You do know that this is your fault, right?”</p><p>“She has free will. She chose to make a mistake. It’s not my fault. Nothing is my fault, actually, because <i>I</i> apparently don’t. Have any free will. Because I’m letting myself get helped by you.”</p><p>“You’re going to thank me later.”</p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p>--</p><p>Their first plan is to have Etta text Liza. Simple. Easy. Except she’s blocked, and when they try Pickering’s phone, Liza texts “Etta, I know it’s you” and blocks his number too.</p><p>“Who joins a fucking startup,” Etta moans. “Fucking <i>entrapeneurship</i>. Fucking evil capitalist pigs.”</p><p>“Liza’s not an evil capitalist pig,” Pickering reminds her.</p><p>“Many evil capitalist pigs,” she amends, “Liza not among them. Why am I such an ass?”</p><p>Boxing Day. (Christmas had mainly consisted of valiantly trying not to cry and then crying anyway.) They’re at a bar, obviously, with Pearce and the rest of them. Pearce is really more Liza’s friend than hers, but Etta’s helped her with too many p-sets to be utterly betrayed. “I think,” Pearce sniffs, “that you are an ass. And you should stay away from her.”</p><p>“Thanks. Anyone else?”</p><p>They all shake their heads. Etta is--and this isn’t pride, okay, it’s just a fact--she’s always been the ringleader. She’s always had Liza by her side too, and a dull bolt of pain zings through her head, rote, memorized. “Pearce, since you’re being such a help tonight, mind giving me your phone?”</p><p>She’s listed as “Eliza Doolittle” in Pearce’s phone, and Etta remembers how she used to bedazzle Liza’s contact with emojis and in-jokes. She shoves down the memory. <i>Hey,</i> she writes. <i>Just checking in.</i></p><p>Liza types for a long time, but it just says <i>fine</i>.</p><p>
  <i>You sure?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>yeah, just staying in. fred ordered thai.</i>
</p><p>Etta leans across the bar. “She’s living with him?” She and Liza had tried rooming together once, but that been miserable, both of them snapping at each other all the time and Etta uncomfortably turned on (and, of course, unsure why). Then she moved into Pickering’s apartment, and Liza moved in with Pearce. But now, it’s barely been three days, and she’s already rooming with this… this fucking blue-blooded man-whore. </p><p>“Yeah,” Pearce rolls her eyes, “where else would she live?”</p><p>“Can’t she, like, rent a place? Somewhere <i>else</i>?”</p><p>“I think she really likes him,” Pearce says, venom in her voice. “He’s nice to her. He doesn’t insult her. He doesn’t <i>throw necklaces</i> at her.”</p><p>“I’m kind of a bitch for that,” Etta acknowledges. “Kind of.” She goes back to the phone. <i>Have fun</i>, she types. <i>Eat lots of curry.</i></p><p>Liza sends a picture of the massaman. Etta sends back a thumbs up, which is such a disgustingly normie move that she almost pukes up her Coors, except. It’s for true love. A little heart pops up over the thumbs up, and Etta’s own is beating, beating, beating, red and rare and utterly ruinous.</p><p>“Okay,” she tells Pickering as they walk home, “I think this Pearce thing will really work.”</p><p>He shakes his head. “If she realizes it’s you, she’ll get supersonically mad at everyone. If she doesn’t, then you won’t get a chance to apologize to her. Either way, you lose.”</p><p>“So I need to find a way to talk to her where she knows it’s me, but if she does, she won’t talk. Wonderful.”</p><p>“I have an idea,” Pickering says slowly. “Don’t get mad at me.”</p><p>--</p><p>“WHERE IS SHE?” Etta yells. The music isn’t loud as much as it’s <i>bad</i>. She can feel her braincells dying.</p><p>“OVER THERE,” Pickering yells back, pointing to a dingy corner.</p><p>“DID YOU EXPLAIN THE DEAL?”</p><p>“DUH.”</p><p>She claps him on the shoulder and heads over. Liza is huddled, swiping at her phone. She’s shed the glasses, for once. Her eyelids are dusted with silver.</p><p>“Um,” Etta says. She’ll admit that she’s been more articulate in the past. </p><p>Liza doesn’t look up. She sounds calm, bored. “Fuck off.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Liza.”</p><p>“Yeah, and I just told you to fuck off.”</p><p>“Kinda can’t.” Etta gestures at the crowd, even though she knows Liza can’t see. “I might get mobbed. I think this is a fire hazard.”</p><p>“You hate parties.”</p><p>“<i>You</i> hate parties.”</p><p>“No, actually. I like parties. I just had to accommodate your ridiculous social ineptitude for my entire college career.”</p><p>“I said I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I’ve got plenty of friends.”</p><p>“Nice non sequitur.”</p><p>“You know why I’m mad, don’t you?”</p><p>“I was a bitch, right?”</p><p>“Close. You were a bitch and you’re my best friend.” Liza stands up, statuesque. Etta’s conscious of how close they are. Liza’s lips are silver too; she’s glittering all over. She leans in, and Etta feels her breath on her ear, clipped. “You can’t just say that you’re sorry. That’s not how it works, you know.”</p><p>“I know,” Etta says. “I know.”</p><p>“You’re going to have to work for it,” Liza breathes. “You know that, right?” Her hair brushes against Liza’s cheek.</p><p>“I <i>know</i>,” Etta whispers. Then, “you’re having fun, aren’t you?”</p><p>“You know me pretty well.” And she’s gone, only the memory of her left, a gleaming twinkling dream, beloved. <i>You're going to have to work for it.</i></p><p>Etta has always enjoyed a challenge.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yell with me on Tumblr at <a href="https://withatalentforsquaddrill.tumblr.com">withatalentforsquaddrill</a> (for general bullshit) or <a href="https://foresme.tumblr.com">foresme</a> (for fandom bullshit).</p></blockquote></div></div>
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